


TDI Layla Jones

by SJ_Sixx



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Jimmy and Johnny, Brother-Sister Relationships, Emerson is a sweetheart, Emerson likes comic book films, Fake Names, Layla/Jenny is a walking quantity of sass, Little Sisters, More tags to come as I write more, Multi, Protective brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-11-22 10:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11378307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SJ_Sixx/pseuds/SJ_Sixx
Summary: "The past is never where you think you left it.” ― Katherine Anne PorterLayla Jones (AKA Jenny Kray) thought she could escape the past, escape the shadow cast by her brothers. However, she's about to find that is can catch up in unexpected ways.





	1. Overture

A room painted as blue as the sky, meant for a baby boy, but the gender reveal hadn’t quite gone to plan.

 

Angie had always loved old wives tricks on how to tell the gender before the actual scan – the ring had swung from side to side, she had craved salty foods and savoury snacks, she had the ‘glow’ and every other symptom and sign she had when she was carrying the twins, however, the grand scan reveal showed a healthy baby girl growing away.

“So, we’re gonna get a baby sister?” asked one of her sons that evening.

Angie smiled as the other one brought her a cup of tea, before nodding, “yes, you two are going to have a sister.”

The eleven-year-old twins looked at each other, before Jimmy spoke, “what you gonna call her then? You can’t call her Jacob.”

“I think, I shall call her Jenny. Then, we have Johnny, Jimmy, and Jenny.” Angie hummed.

“She gonna have our last name as well?” asked Johnny.

“No, no. Her last name will be Richardson, like her dad.”

 

_~*New Born*~_

“She’s tiny,”

The now twelve-year-old twins peered into the crib, looking down at the baby girl, who peered back with great interest.

“She was born early. Little Jenny wasn’t scheduled to appear until another month or so. Poor dear, she’s had a rough start, hooked up to all those tubes, it broke my heart.” Angie sighed.

“So… will that mean she’s weaker than normal?” asked Jimmy.

“No, you dolt, it just means she’ll be smaller.” Johnny replied.

Both were then distracted by a small laughing in the crib, and saw Jenny smiling and reaching out to them.

“You can hold her. She’s your sister. Mind her head.”

There was a pause, before Johnny reached down into the crib, pulling Jenny from the blankets and cradling her. Jimmy cupped her head, and Jenny gurgled, before nestling her head in Johnny’s shirt and yawning, grasping it softly in her tiny fists.

 

_~*Five Years Old*~_

“Jimmy!”

The seventeen-year-old turn round as Jenny came running towards him, arms outstretched.

“Jenny? What’s wrong?” he asked, scooping her into his arms.

“Mama said I can’t have a cookie cause it’s too late, but she brought the reeaaaalllly nice ones that have raspberry and white chocolate and Johnny’ll eat them all before I get one!” she pouted at her older brother.

Jimmy smirked, before carrying her into the kitchen, shifting her to one arm, pulling the jar down from the top cupboard.

“Jimmy, are you really getting her a cookie?”

Both turned to see Johnny there, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed.

Before Jimmy could respond, Jenny plucked one from the jar and held it out to Johnny, finger on her lips. The twin looked at it, before smiling, taking it from his sister.

It was later Angie found them on the sofa, the twins collapsed against each other, Jenny snuggled in the middle of them with an arm from each one round her, crumbs adorning the corners of all three’s lips, a half empty cookie jar by their feet.

 

_~*Twelve Years Old*~_

“We had a police man come to school today.”

Jimmy put down his paper to look at the twelve-year-old who had plopped herself down next to her brother, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh? What did he talk about?” Jimmy asked.

“Organized crime, he said it’s like when a group of people get together to plan out crimes over a long period of time. Apparently the police station has a big area dedicated to fighting it.” She said idly, pulling her blonde hair from its plaits.

“Anything else?”

“Not really, but he wouldn’t stop looking at me,” she paused for a second, before staring at Jimmy with her brown eyes, “apparently there’s often rivals and fights. He said one of the biggest they had was between two gangs, the Kray’s and the Richardson gangs. Wasn’t that your’s and Johnny’s pappy and mine?”

Jimmy sighed, putting his paper down, moving to pull the younger girl into his lap.

“Yes. But nothing could ever make us fight. You’re my baby sister, and Johnny’s princess.” He smiled, hugging her tight.

 

_~*Fifteen Years Old*~_

“Jenny?”

Johnny knocked on her door, cautious. She had arrived home, covered in blood, cuts and scrapes all over her body, before rushing to her room.

“Yeah?” she called from inside.

“Can I come in?”

“Only if you won’t freak.”

He took that as a yes, and opened the door.

“What happened, Princess?” he asked, sitting next to her on the bed as she wiped her cuts and the blood off.

“Someone doesn’t know how to get of turf that doesn’t belong to them. Bloody Yiddishers, just cause they were here in the 30’s, times have changed. We’re in charge now.” She snarled.

“You’re in a gang?” Johnny replied.

“Yeah. Watney Streeters. Was dad’s old gang.” The fifteen-year-old replied.

Johnny exhaled slowly, before smirking.

“Jimmy! Fancy a bit of old fashioned gang war?” he called.

Jimmy had arrived at the door in a second, grinning.

Surprisingly enough, when her brothers joined in, she had no issues with The Yiddishers ever again.

 

_~*Seventeen Years Old*~_

“I think I know what I want to do with my life,” Jenny grinned at Angie across the table.

“Oh? And what’s that, hun?” Angie smiled from across the table, nursing her cup of tea.

“Well… promise you wont tell Johnny and Jimmy?” she asked.

Angie raised her eyesbrows, “I won’t, sweetie. What is it?”

“I want to join the Whitechapel Police. There’s an opening in the team, they’re looking for a Trainee Detective Constable, someone fresh from school and willing to learn. They came to school, and Miles, one of the existing DC’s, says he likes my spunk and is willing to vouch for me if I applied.” Jenny explained.

“Even with your name?”

“I-I kinda gave him a fake name. I didn’t want it to hurt my chances.” Jenny mumbled, looking into her mug.

Angie sighed thoughtfully, before resting her hand on Jenny’s, “if it will make you happy, I will support you all the way.”

 

“I GOT THE JOB!”

Jenny burst through the door, grin all over her face.

“Job?” Her balloon of happiness popped as Jimmy called from the living room.

“Y-Yeah, job…” she wandered into the room to see Johnny there as well, looking up from his paper.

“What as…?” Jimmy started until he saw the badge clutched in her hand.

“Is that a police badge?” he got up to walk forward, but Jenny stood her ground.

“Yes. I am now a Trainee Detective Inspector for Whitechapel Police.” She said defiantly, staring up at her brother.

“You, are working with those dirty coppers?”

“I am working to protect people!”

“I am not allowing my baby sister to work along with those coppers. You will hand that badge back in and begin your real training as our successor…”

“No! I don’t want that life! I will not forever live under your shadow, only as the little sister of the Kray Twins! I will not live that way, and you can either like it or lump it!”

She stormed off at this point, from the room and up the stairs, leaving Jimmy standing there.

“Jimmy!” Angie said, surprised.

“What are you playing at, you twat?!” Johnny snapped, getting up, “are you trying to push her away?! This is our little sister, and we are in a dangerous world here! We can’t afford for her to be distant, it could get her injured, or worse…!”

“Don’t mention it. Please. Not my baby sister.” Jimmy whispered.

“Then go fucking apologise.”

Jimmy sighed, heading from the room and up the stairs, pausing outside Jenny’s door.

“Jenny? Can I come in?” he asked softly.

There was no response.

“Jenny, look, I’m sorry. I’m just worried, you know us and the Police don’t get along, I don’t want you to be hurt. Please, let me in.” he sighed, resting his forehead against the door.

Still no reply.

“Please, baby sister, let me in. If you don’t reply, I’m coming in.”

When he got no response, he opened the door, peering in, before his heart dropped.

The room was empty, clothes strewn everywhere, the window wide open, and a knotted bedsheet hanging from the frame, loosely blowing in the wind.

“Jenny?! Jenny!” He ran to the window, clutching the frame, looking out on the empty streets – she was no where.

“JENNY!” he screamed into the night.

From a few streets away, a young girl turned, before sighing at her brother’s screams. She then continued carrying on down the road, a rucksack heavy on her back, as she walked on.

 

**~*Two Years Later*~**

She shook her head as she was passed her coffee, the hot liquid steaming up her glasses.

“Black, two sugars.” said Sanders as he handed out everyone else's coffee.

"Cheers," she sighed, taking a sip.

“Why can’t people die at a decent time of day?” sighed McCommack.

“Got your own crappachino then, Kent?” asked Fitzgerald, as Kent arrived, clutching his coffee.

"Leave him be, it's not his fault he's a fancy bastard." she laughed.

“Right, what we got?” asked Miles as they headed in to get suited and booted.

Over the chatter of the radio’s, Miles came up to her and Fitzgerald and clapped them both on the shoulders.

“Commander Anderson’s sending us a new DI.” He muttered.

“Oh good,” smirked Fitzgerald, “cause we don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Clearly. Another fast tracker?” she asked.

“Oh, if I’d have known, I’d have made Vol Au Vents.” Laughed Fitzgerald.

“I’ll go tell the others.” Said Miles, wandering off as the Range Rover pulled up and a man got out.

She looked at him, with his bow ties and in his dinner jacket, and he looked at her, with her multicoloured hair and old scuffed up Dr Martens.

“DCI Chandler,” he said, offering a hand to her.

“TDI Layla Jones.” She replied, shaking it.


	2. The New DI

“Here he comes,” she said as he walked in.

“Right, Rob Lees has been eliminated from this enquiry. We start afresh. Consider this a new investigation.” He said, walking through.

“Suppose that means we have to work,” said Layla, taking a seat on Emmerson’s desk, as Chandler looked round.

“I need some chalk.” He finally said, turning to them.

They all looked round at eachother, shrugging.

“I can wait. As long as it takes.” Chandler sighed.

“Ooo, it’s like being back at school.” Layla sniggered.

“Just cause out of us all, you’re young enough to remember your school days.” Miles joked.

“Shut up, yer old fart.”

Eventually it was Kent that got up and got the chalk, pulling it from a draw and handing it over, causing mutterings amongst the team.

“Thank you, Kent. Right, our suspect is in his 40’s. Average height and build, dark complexion. Wearing a hat with ear flaps.” Said Chandler.

“So an Asian Sherlock Holmes then.” She said.

“We’ll start with CCTV.”

“Great idea, we’ll start tomorrow.” Said Miles.

“No, we’ll start today.” Said Chandler.

“End of shift, unless you’re authorizing double time.” Replied Miles.

No response. Everyone got up and left.

“Oi, you coming, Jones?” called Fitzgerald.

“Yeah, just grabbing something.”

As the door shut behind them, Chandler looked to her.

“I’m not authorizing it.”

“I know. But I got nothing else to do tonight. Where do you want me to start?” she said, sitting behind her computer.

“About an hour before the victim was found. I’ll be in the office if you find anything.” He said, a small sign of relief on his face as he wandered in.

She nodded, putting her headphones in, letting Def Leppard keep her company as she worked.

 

Next day, office was back to normal.

“Did you stay late last night?” asked Miles.

“Didn’t have anything else to do. No one to see or anything.” She replied, running through files.

“I forget sometimes you’re on your own at home.” He sighed, clapping her on the shoulder and walking off.

It was then Joseph walked out the office and onto the floor, before whistling.

“Miles!”

Miles turned round - “I beg your pardon” - before walking off after him.

“How long we got him again?” she asked as he walked out.

“Too bloody long,” replied Fitzgerald.

Leaning back in her chair, a cup of coffee was placed in front of her, along with a Bounty.

“Cheers, Emmerson,” She smiled at the lad, “don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Neither do I,” he smiled, ruffling her hair, moving back over.

“Get a room, you two!” shouted McComack.

“Fuck off, McComack.” She shouted as Miles and Chandler walked back in, Chandler heading back to the board.

“Right, forensics.” He said, tapping the blackboard.

“There’s nothing, no prints, no fibres, no DNA. There is diddly-squat.” Layla replied.

“Witnesses?”

“Nobody heard anything,” said Fitzgerald, throwing a crisp packets off the desk so he could sit, “well, they all knew there was a fire, there was the noise of the fire engines, but no one heard a scream or a struggle, nothing.”

“Well, Mary Bousfield’s a witness. Talk to her again, she if she remembers anything else,” said Chandler, “friends and family?”

“Well, everyone I spoke to was very upset,” said McComack, “there were no enemies. No motive.”

“Right, so we’ve got no physical evidence, no witnesses… no known… no known motive,” Chandler trailed off.

“No nothing.” Layla finished.

There was a moment of silence.

“Right, I want everything done again. Knock on every door again, talk to Cathy’s friends again, and go through every minuet of CCTV again.”

Sanders at this point let out a belch and the room burst into laughter, Layla reaching over to high-five him.

“How can you conduct an inquiry like this?” asked Chandler.

“Same way we conduct all the other ones we’ve done.” Shrugged Layla.

“I mean, look at the state of you, look at your desks. There could be actions here. Clean it up and log it in. I want paperless desks. Use your bins, see?”

“That’s a bin? I thought that was a paper ball basket,” Layla whispered to Kent, both sniggering.

“And empty them at the end of every night. And who’s the office manager here?"

“I am, sir.” Said McComack.

“Sort it out, McComack, it’s a disgrace! And haven’t you heard of showers, or irons? I mean, where’s your ties? It’s no bloody surprise the potential witnesses aren’t talking! You don’t look professional! Especially you, with the most ludicrous, weirdest hair, I have ever seen!” he directed that part at Layla.

“Thank you, sir.” She snapped back.

“Get yourselves organised, self discipline, self respect, deodorant. Go!”

He stormed into his office, closely followed by a fuming Miles, who began shouting.

“Oooohhh, he’s in for it,” she sniggered, “wear a tie, I think the last time I wore a tie was in school.”

 

“Why are you wearing a tie? You’re a girl.” Asked Fitzgerald.

“He wanted us all in ties, so I’ve got a tie. Plus, makes me look like Billie Joel Armstrong, don’t ya think?” she laughed, striking a pose.

“I think this man has killed before. I wanna look for previous, in the last few months or so, a murder with overkill. Thirty nine stab wounds to the torso and legs, Jones, I need you to do that,” Chandler said, walking in.

“And this is from where?” asked Miles.

“Just an idea.” Replied Chandler.

“Thirty nine stab wounds is a very specific idea.”

“Well it might be nothing.”

“It is nothing, the Ripper’s for tourists.”

“I think you’re ignoring the possibility that…”

“There was no murder like that here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, it’s my job to know…”

Layla drowned out the rest of the conversation around her as she searched the files on her computer.

“Sir! You might want to see this!” she suddenly called, “Emma Jones, August 7th, found with a lump on her head, and 39 stab wounds.”

As they walked off to question her, she sighed, noting once again the Bounty on her desk.


	3. Bonding

“When I eat curry, I can smell it on my pitts the next day.” Said Sanders.

“And you wonder why you’re single?” asked Layla incredulously, looking at him as she ate her own curry from the takeaway tub.

They were sitting on top of a dumpster on Hanbury street, eating, waiting. Her, Sanders and Kent had been stationed there, with Chandler, whilst Fitz and McComack were with Miles somewhere else.

“Do you want one, sir?” asked Kent, offering a pakora to Chandler.

“No thank you." he declined quietly.

Kent went back to eating them, before noting Layla shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No, I shiver when I'm happy," she replied, placing her tub down and sighing, leaning back against the wall.

Emmerson sighed himself, before shedding his jacket and placing it round Layla.

"Now you're gonna get cold, you twat," she mumbled, moving to be leaning against him.

"I'll be fine," he hummed, looping his arm loosely round her waist as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Nothing remains at Number 29, Hanbury Street,”

“Oh here we go,” groaned Layla as Buchan came along.

"Wonder if he has anything to do with these? He knows enough about all the murders." murmured Kent.

"Enough to commit them again, thats for certain," she sighed, as Emmerson pulled her closer.

He merely hummed, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"Do you two want to get a room? Making me feel like a third wheel here," chuckled Sanders.

"Shut up," Emmerson sighed.

Layla made no comment, but allowed Kent to hold her closer, trying to ignore the thumping in her chest.

 

“You gonna call it then, Sir?”

She looked down from the dumpster as Kent handed a coffee to Chandler, before giving one to her.

“I tried, didn’t I?” Chandler asked.

“You gave it your best shot,” she said, hopping down from the dumpster.

Chandler sighed, and started to call Miles, before they heard a woman’s screams.

All four dropped their coffee’s before running to the noise, crashing into a young lady.

“She’s dead, she’s dead!”

“Where is she!”

“Number four, out back!”

“Come on!”

They arrived, Layla following Chandler in, until they found the body. Layla stared at her, and the few belongings at her feet, as the rest all came in.

“It’s the Ripper,” she whispered, clutching Emmerson, who wrapped an arm back round her as she looked upon the blood, pooling by their feet in a crimson puddle, the organs thrown over her shoulder like a gored scarf, the head hanging by only a sinew to her neck, and by her spinal column. Mutilated and torn apart, left to rot.

 

“ _You ok?_ ”

“No, Skip, it ain’t happening today. Been chucking since I got back. Currently researching where I can.” She croaked down the phone, huddled in her blankets.

“ _Alright then, kid, get back in when you feel better, ok? No one to look after you?"_

"I'll be fine, I always am,"

" _Alright, keep in touch,"_

“Will do, Miles.”

The phone call ended and she went back to researching on her laptop, about old cases, the ripper murders. It was then she stumbled upon a website, run by a familiar name.

"Edward Buchan... you might have just dropped yourself into it," she mumbled, scrolling.

 

“Layla?”

“Door’s open,” she croaked, shutting the lid to her laptop.

The door creaked open and Emmerson arrived, clutching something.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Bloody awful,” she mumbled, putting the laptop aside, before looking at him, “new suit? Looks very dashing.”

He grinned, placing the package down and sitting on the side of her bed, “thank you. What’s wrong with you?”

“Food poising. I’ll be fine, it takes about a week to clear normally.” She tried to grin at him, but couldn’t find much energy.

“Hasn’t someone been looking after you?” he asked, pushing a lock of hair from her face, before resting his hand on her hair, thumb stroking her forehead.

“No. I live on my own. Don’t got any family.” She mumbled, nestling into his hand.

He sighed, unassumingly playing with her hair, “stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He got up, and headed into the kitchen, and she heard clinking and knocking. About 10 minuets later, he was back, with a tray of chicken soup, some crackers and a glass of water.

“If I had know you were on your own, I would have been over sooner,” Emmett sighed, bringing the chair over to her bed, dipping the spoon in the soup and holding it up, “open up.”

Normally Layla would have protested or retorted with a snarky comment (something along the lines of ‘that’s what he said’ maybe) but instead, she shut up and accepted the help to eat, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks as she did.

After finishing the food, he took the tray back to the kitchen, before coming back, sitting on the edge of her bed, hand on her shoulder.

“Thanks, Emmett.” She mumbled into her pillow.

“No worries,” he smiled, rubbing her shoulder gently.

"So what was in the package?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," he got up to fetch it, and she almost huffed at the loss of contact.

Coming back over, he laid it on the bed, helping her sit up, and gave it to her. Inside, was a fluffy, red, water bottle.

"My mum always said they help when you're ill... do you want me to go fill it up for you?" he asked.

"If you would be a little star?"

He smiled, moving back to her kitchen to put the kettle on.

"You have a lot of flowers," he said absentmindedly.

"I like flowers. Primroses, the blue ones, are my favourite," she replied as the kettle clicked, indicating it was ready.

He came back in, holding the bottle. She took it off him, holding it to her stomach to help with the aches as she settled back down, Emmerson pulling the covers back over her.

"So you really don't have anyone?" he asked.

"No," she lied smoothy, like she had done for the last 2 years, "my family got killed 3 years ago, in a car crash. I lived with a mate for a bit, before getting my own flat shortly after I joined the force."

He sighed, rubbing her shoulder again, "poor kid,"

"Kid?" she snorted, "I can't be much younger than you."

He chuckled at that, "no, you're not. But I still remember when you became 18, must have been about 4 months after you joined. We took you out for your first drinks - you were drunk by the end of that night, hugging everyone in sight, and I got left in charge of dealing with you. You were alright, you were a happy drunk. You kept cooing how you loved me, and how you thought my curly hair was adorable."

"Shut up," she mumbled, him grinning.

The motion soothed her, and she was lulled, especially when Emmett started to hum a tune, something along the lines of “Far Away” by Nickleback. It was just enough to take her over the edge and she fell asleep once again.

 

But not before she felt a kiss being placed to her temple.


	4. Recovery

“Fitz sold us out?”

“ _Yeah, leaked to the press about the case. Tried to do it to out the DI.”_ Emmerson’s voice came down the phone.

“Shame. I liked Fitz. By the way, guys, have any of you tried interviewing Buchan as a suspect? His website is chock a block full of shit… plus, he has some creepy ass fans commenting.” She asked, scrolling through the comments.

“ _No… none of us knew about a website. I’ll pass it to Chandler, he’ll want to know, cheers Layla,”_

“No worries, thought I’d better -…” she trailed off, grabbing her bucket and dry heaving into it.

“ _You still ill?”_

“Yeah… yeah… living off Rustlers burgers probably isn’t helping, but that, and other microwavable things are all I have the energy to make at the moment.”

_“You twit… I’ll be over when I finish. Door unlocked?”_

“Yeah… you don’t have to…”

“ _Shut up and accept my help.”_

“Ok, ok… see you when you get here.”

The phone went dead and she lay back in bed, a small smile on her face.

 

As the door opened, she saw Emmerson again, but this time, he was carrying a bag.

"What's in the bag?" she asked.

"My aunt, she's a great believer in herbal tea and such..."

"What, and you got a whole bag full of it?"

"No, no, just a couple of tea bags. The rest is some stuff for me for the night. You'll recover a lot quicker if someone is with you." he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Layla gave a small smile at that, as he sat next to her on the bed.

"You really don't..."

"I want to."

She merely gave a sigh, slumping back onto her pillow. As Emmerson went back into the kitchen, her eyes darted over to the mirror by her bed, before she picked it up, looking in it and grimacing at her messy hair, her pale skin and the bags under her eyes - she didn't look great.

Wait, why was she so worried about this?

Shutting the mirror, she tossed it to the side, as Emmerson came back in, holding nausea tablets and some water.

"I've put the kettle on, I'll make you some pasta and sauce. But for now, I brought these to you."

He helped her take them, before casting his eyes round the flat.

"I'll set up camp on the sofa," he decided, before looking back at Layla, who had started to shiver - damn body temperature.

"Or maybe not," he chuckled, shedding his suit jacket, "I'm just going to change, ok?"

She nodded, before he headed into the bathroom with a bundle of clothes. Coming back out, he was dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of loose grey sweatpants. Her eyes followed him as he walked round the other side of the bed, climbing onto it and wrapping an arm round her to pull her into him, trying to warm her up.

"Good god, you're freezing." he murmured. 

She heard the kettle go in the kitchen, and almost whined as Emmerson got up to make the pasta and sauce. Coming back in with the steaming bowls, she gladly ate it, before he took them back out into the kitchen. Returning, he went to lock the door, before he climbed back onto the bed next to her, slipping under the duvet and pulling her close with one arm, pulling a book out with his other hand, whilst the first one drew swirls and shapes on Layla's back as she leant against him, nose tucked into the cotton of his shirt.  

Both appeared to have forgotten about the herbal tea.

 

Next morning, she yawned slightly, feeling a heat next to her. She cuddled closer to the heat, and only then noticed the arms round her as they tightened.

"Layla?"

"Huh? Wuzzgoingon?" she mumbled.

A chuckle rang out from above, and Emmerson pushed some hair from her face.

"I gotta go to work." he whispered.

"Nuuuuuuu please stay." she whined.

He sighed, taking another look at her.

"Well... I guess I could take the day off to look after you. Skip won't mind. Give me a moment."

He sat up, reaching for his phone on the bedside table, one arm still looped round the girl.

"Miles? Yeah, it's Kent... yeah, yeah, I'm ok, but Layla... yeah, still ill, she's in a bad state with... yeah, with no one to look after her... yeah, I'm in her flat now, I spent the night... not in that way... I promise... look, Skip, she's still... yeah... cheers. I'll talk tomorrow."

He ended the call, before looking down at Layla, who had one eyebrow raised.

"He seem to get some idea's when I said I spent the night here." he said idly.

Layla sniggered, "can't imagine why."

He shrugged, settling back down and wrapped both arms round her.

 

When she awoke later that morning, she sat up, blinking as she looked round the empty bed.

"Emmerson?" she called, voice stronger than it had been in a while.

"Well, you sound better than you have done in a while," he said, coming back in with two cups of coffee.

He placed one on the bedside table next to her, and his on the one next to him, before slipping back into bed.

"I guess. Head hurts still, but feeling otherwise better." she smiled at him as he took a sip.

"I told you that you'd recover if you had someone looking after you." he chuckled.

 

The next day, she was strong enough to return to work. Emmerson insisted on driving, and as they walked through the station, he kept one hand on her lower back as support. As they reached the incident room, Sanders was the first to notice them as the doors opened.

“Eyyy, here they are! I had first dibs on your coffee mug!”

Kent helping her down the stairs, she waved regally at them all.

“Remind me never to eat from dodgy curry houses again,” Layla laughed.

“Bless, has Emmerson been helping you?” cooed McComack.

“Shut up,” Kent smirked.

Before she sat down, however, Chandler came out, pulling his coat on.

“Miles, Jones, with me, you lot follow on.”

They left, and she shrugged at the rest of the team, before following out after Miles and Chandler.


	5. The Ripper

“Sir, you have a head injury, take it from me, you need to go to Hospital.” She said as they climbed back up the stairs, having just rescued Chandler from the bottom.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, defiantly.

“You’re about as pretty as me, now.” Joked Miles.

“Not quite, I didn’t hit every step on the way down,” replied Chandler.

“Oooo, me-ow,” she sniggered, Miles grinning as they entered back onto the corridor, McCormack, Sanders and Kent there, holding the door open.

“You ready sir?” asked Sanders.

“Do it.”

McComack nodded, before ramming the door down and we poured in.

The floor was covered in a shiny, slipper covering, and as she entered a room, shining the torch, her blood ran cold.

“Guys! You might want to see this.” She called.

Chandler followed, and both looked round, at the pictures, the maps, the clippings. Every thing about the Ripper Murders down to the tiniest, minuscule details.

“Bloody hell,” breathed Joe, “Miles! In here.”

Miles came in, looking round in astonishment, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

“Sir! There’s more.”

She turned to see McComack had wandered into another room, and followed him in, looking round at all the wigs, and hats, and moustaches.

“Oh my god.” She said.

“I can’t believe this.” Said McComack.

She kept looking, seeing the leather apron, before noting the fridge.

“Oh no…” she opened it, and nearly gagged as she saw what was in it.

“Ugh,” commented Miles.

“I want SOCOs in here now, we need to get through every inch of this place.” Said Joe.

 

“Here they go,” she muttered to Kent, as they leafed through suits in bags, listening to the DI and Miles arguing.

It was then she spotted something.

“Emmerson, just, just hold them apart… Oh my lord.”

There was a bunch of pictures, all stuck on the walls.

“The next victim will have long, red hair, right?” Called Kent.

“Yeah,” replied Ray.

Kent pulled a picture off the wall, showing it.

“I think we found her,” He said, “I’ve seen her before, she’s a nurse from the hospital.”

“Get her ID’d and under protection. Go. Now!”

Kent rushed out, and she made to follow.

“McComack, go with him! Jones, stay here!” called Miles.

“There must be something amongst all this that tells us who this guy is. Keep looking!”

 

“There are dozens of birth certificates!”

“One of them must be his!”

Her phone started ringing, and she picked it up.

“Emmerson?”

“ _Her name is Francis Cole, she’s a midwife,”_

“We have an ID! She’s called Francis Cole, she’s a midwife!” she called to the two.

“Have they made contact?” replied Joe.

“Any contact?!”

“ _No, she’s not answering her phone…”_

“She’s not picking up, they think she’s gone home.”

“ _Her address is Clerkenwell Road, Number 160…”_

“They’ve got her address!”

“Send a tactical unit!”

“Get Tactical over, we’ll meet you there!”

_“Ok, be careful Layla!”_

“No, we need to find him, the answer must be here somewhere! The last murder will be tonight. There must be something here that points to who he is!” Joe said.

She went back to furiously searching, before Mile’s phone went again.

“Hello?... They’re going in…. shit. She’s not there!”

“What?!” Joe grabbed the phone, “You searched the flat?! Look for anything that might tell me where she is. Mum, dad, sisters, boyfriends, whatever. I want every address within a five minuet walk from where I am now!... Flower and Dean’s street, Jones, come on!”

They rushed from the flat, Joe and Miles getting in the car and Layla still running. She reached the flats the same time, and briefly heard “237, 5th Floor” as she flew up the stairs, legs aching, chest burning, taking the steps two at a time.

As she burst through the open door, the man lunged at her, knife at the ready. She fell backwards, wrestling with him, rolling around the flat as she tried to avoid the knife.

But it sunk into the side of her ribcage, slicing down her body and being jarred at the top of her hip bone, before she was able to wrench his wrist away and the knife out.

“LAYLA!”

The man was thrown off her, and all she heard was bumps and yelling, before a hand cupped her cheek.

“Jones, Layla, stay with us, there’s an ambulance on the way, please, stay with us…” Joe was begging.

“I’m here, I’m here…” she mumbled.

The wailing of the ambulance got louder, and more footsteps were heard.

“ ** _NO! LAYLA_**!” She had never heard Emmerson scream before, but as she was lifted onto a stretcher, padding being pressed to the side to staunch the blood flow, a hand grasped her own, and a familiar cologne came to her.

“Emmerson… I may not make it…”

“Don’t be silly, of course you will,” he begged, “please, just stay with us…”

“If I don’t… know… I love… I love… you…”

It was all she remembered before she blacked out, the darkness taking her in its embrace.

 

There was a beeping… a high pitched beeping… was it time to get up for work already?

“Wonder if I can call in sick today…” she mumbled.

“Layla?!”

“Emmerson?”

She opened her eyes, and got a brief look at a white room and machines, before she was attacked with a hug, her face hidden in a head of black curly hair.

“Oh my god, Layla, we have been so worried! We wondered if you were ever going to wake… you lost so much blood…” he murmured.

“Emmerson, ribs…” she mumbled.

He loosened his grip, but still kept holding on, stroking her hair.

“What happened? Did we get him?” she asked.

“No, no…” he pulled back, but kept hold of her hand, “he escaped. Both you and Skip got badly injured, and the DI was more concerned about getting you both medical attention. Skip left hospital a week ago.”

“A week ago…”

“You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.” Emmerson said gently.

“Oh lawd, that’s a lot of paperwork waiting for me.” She groaned.

He laughed softly, “but yeah, the ripper escaped – but DI said that he’s missed the date. He can’t commit another Marie Kelly. He’s done now.”

She nodded, sinking back into her pillows.

“I best go let them know you’re awake.” He kissed her forehead, before getting up to use the phone in the corridor.

“Ah, you’re awake.” She turned her head to see a smiling, red headed woman.

“Francis? But I thought you were a midwife…” Layla trailed off as Francis plumped her pillows.

“I am. But when I got back, I head you were in ICU and wanted to be your carer. It’s the least I could do for you after you saved my life,” she hummed, before she looked at Kent, who was pacing outside, “he’s not left your side once, you know. Just been sitting here, waiting, talking to you.”

Layla glanced to the young man, smiling.

As he came back in, he grinned at her, taking his seat once more.

“They’re on their way – Miles and Chandler. Sanders and McComack currently have their kids.” He said.

No more than 10 mins later, the doors opened and she saw Miles and Joe standing there, holding a bunch of flowers and a card.

“Thank god, you’re awake.” Sighed Miles.

“We were really worried,” said Joe, as they both took seats next to her bed.

“You know me, tough as old boots.” She grinned.

 

For the next few days, Emmerson kept popping in and out around work (Chandler had forced him to go back, now she was awake). And when she was ready to go home, he was there, waiting to take her back.

It was a day or so later when she returned to work. Emmerson said he would drive her to work, but she found herself setting off early to go the scenic route, before getting to the office and into the incident room.

“Here she is!”

“Bitch is back, guys!” she smirked, raising her hands.

“Thank god, it was too quiet without you telling me to fuck off every ten minuets,” laughed McComack.

“There was a definite lack of sarcasm. You feeling ok?” asked Miles.

“Yeah. There is a ma-hoosive scar down my side, but that’s what tattoo’s are for,” she said,

“You sure you’re ready to come back?” asked Chandler.

“I was getting bored at home,” Layla said idly, before looking round, “where’s Emmerson?”

“He just popped out for something at the shop,” said Miles, ignoring McComack and Sanders nudging each other in the background, “he’ll be back soon, he was going to pick you up, and his keys are still here.”

She nodded, taking her seat at her desk and logging on, before she heard the door open behind her.

“Right, I’m just going to go pick Layla up -.” Began Emmerson.

“No need, she’s right here.” Interrupted McComack.

She turned round at that point, to see Emmerson had spotted her and made his way over, clutching a bunch of blue primroses.

“Emmerson! Oh, you remembered they were my favourite.” She smiled, taking them from her.

“Yeah, you mentioned it.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thank you, for everything,” she moved forward to hug him, and he held her back tightly, sighing softly as they stood there.

“Get a room!” yelled McComack.

“Fuck off!” I shouted back.

“C’mon, Kent, tell her how you feel – you know how easy it is to loose her now,” nudged Miles.

“Tell me what?” she asked, looking up – still in his arms.

“Well, y-you see, I, I kinda liked you for a while, a-and I was wondering…”

“I like comic book movies,”

He looked surprised as she said that, grinning.

“R-Really?! I have Iron Man, and the X-Men films, and the Batman trilogy. Could order a Chinese?” he asked.

“Sounds amazing,” she smiled, kissing his cheek.


	6. What Goes Around, Comes Around

“Was there anything called in overnight?”

“Nothing, sorry.”

She looked up at the two as they talked, before sending a wink at Emmerson.

“Haven’t you got any work to be getting on with?” he asked, eyes flickering between the two of them.

“We’re all up to date. You should learn to enjoy these moments, take it easy.” said Miles, grinning.

He went back into his office, and Layla threw a paper airplane over at Emmerson

"Give in," he chuckled

"Read them then! I pour my heart and soul out onto those bits of paper for you!" she groaned dramatically.

"This one just is proclaiming in poetry how much you like my ass," he laughed as he opened it.

"It's a very fine ass." she grinned.

"I don't know what was worse, the sexual tension before with you two, or the constant public affection now." commented McComack.

"Shut up, they're happy." said Miles, shaking his head slightly.

It was then Joe came back out.

“We got one!” Chandler called.

“What, a domestic?” asked Miles.

“No, in the river.”

Kent sighed, “not a suicide?”

“A bona fide whodunit.”

“Up for debate,” Layla muttered, “let’s go, lads.”

 

“Hello, come in, make yourself at home.” Said Lleweyn.

“So, what have you got for me?” asked Chandler.

“Something gruesome, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t worry, nothing bothers me now.”

“Gruesome as in the kill, or the fact the rivers eaten up part of them?” asked Layla.

“Both. He’s been in the water for a good couple of weeks. The fish have been at him. Male, 60-plus. Large, penetrating wound in the chest. Couple of ribs missing. The heart has been cut to pieces, very little left. And here,” she pointed, “the skull has been cracked open quiet violently. Large potion missing. And the brain… well, it’s gone.”

Layla froze as she said that, mind throwing her back...

_"So, what did he do?" she asks_ _curiously._

_"He was smuggled out of prison, then Dad had him shot in the chest and brain," said Jimmy, from where the eight year old was sitting on his lap._

_"He then had the bullets cut from the heart, and took the brain to remove the bullets. Frank was then dumped in the water," finished Johnny, looking up from the paper._

_"Was that so they couldn't use the bullets to identify the gun that was used, therefore tracing it back to Ronnie?" she said._

_"Yes, Jenny, well done!" smiled Jimmy, hugging her tight, "you're learning so quick!"_

Blinking, she saw Joe run out the tent, and noted Miles was missing. She ran out as well to see Miles collapsing on all fours, and knew he had made the connection as well.

 

“We now know that DS Miles suffered a panic attack. Probably caused by post-traumatic stress, because of the stabbing. Now, we can, as a team, help him back on his feet, and by showing understanding and compassion…”

Joseph was interrupted by a loud cheer as Miles walked back in.

“I had first dibs on your desk,” joked McComack.

“Yeah, yeah, you bloody hyenas.” Miles smirked.

“Ah, you big nancy boy.”

“This is how we show understanding and compassion,” she looked to Joseph, grinning.

“Well, carry on. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Our first task is to identify the victim. Now, we don’t know if he’s on the DNA database yet, and he’s been in the water too long for us to get any prints.”

“What about dental records?” asked Kent.

“The victim had no teeth, he wore dentures."

“I’ll check missing persons,” said McComack.

“Good. In the meantime, we can use this,” he gave a shoe to McComack, “they’re hand made. The cobbler would have used something called a last, which is basically the shape of the mans foot carved into wood. Each last is unique, we find this mans last, we get a last name.”

“Smith?” read out Kent.

“The cobbler is called Smith. Now he’s retired, but his lasts were sold to the landlord of the Grave Maurice Pub, off Whitechapel road.”

"And you're going there?" asked Layla.

"Yes, me and Miles."

"I'm coming with."

Joe looked in surprise at her, but nodded.

"If you so wish."

 

“I’m not sure on you coming with me,” Joseph said.

“Trust me, you’ll be glad I did.”

Joseph and Mile's entrance sent a silence over the pub, but as Layla entered behind them, pulling her glasses off, the pub broke into chatter again.

“Here she is! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” smiled the bartender.

“You know it, Jules.” She laughed, heading to the bar,

“Let me hook you two up with a drink, what you after?” he said, pulling two pint glasses out.

“Whatever you got for a good blonde, and what do you want, DI, Skip?” she asked.

“Just a bitter” He said, startled, and Miles nodded.

“And two good bitters.”

He nodded, pulling the pints and sliding them down, “on the house.”

“Cheers. Mind if we have a gander at the lasts you got off the cobbler Smith?” she asked, taking a sip.

“Yeah, they’re in the back.”

She nodded, before heading back there, high-fiving many.

“Jules! You ain’t got a spare ashtray I could pinch?” she called.

“Incoming!”

Another threw one over, and she caught it.

“Your aim is getting worse, Plumer!”

“It’s called growing old, ya whippersnapper!” laughed the olderman.

As Joe went through the lasts, she watched as a bloke peered at them, having a cig.

"I never knew you smoked," said Joe.

"I don't, a, lot, unless I'm stressed." she replied, eyes still on the bloke watching them, who was beginning to text someone, "what you gawking at, Shaun?"

“Nothing, nothing,” he mumbled.

“Don’t stare, it’s rude,” said Jules from behind the bar.

“Who’s he texting?” she asked Jules.

“Yer brothers.”

She froze at that point.

“Chandler, we would do well to hurry and skedaddle.” She said.

“It’s ok, I got it.”

“Good, let’s move.”

They left, and as Chandler and Miles talked, she looked round, shaking, worried they were going to appear.

“Layla?” asked Miles.

“Let’s move now.” She whispered.

“You’re shaking,” Chandler frowned, “and what did that bartender mean about your brothers?”

“I’ll explain later, let’s go!”

They all left, Layla unable to shake the feeling of being watched.

 

~Over at number 9~

"Who is it?" asked Johnny, not looking up from his paper.

"Shaun," replied Jimmy, pulling the phone from his pocket.

"What does he want?"

"I'm just looking. He say's he's in the Grave Maurice, and he's just seen... he's just seen..."

"Who?" Johnny looked up to see his twin's grey face, "who has he just seen?"

"J-J-Jenny..."

Johnny was stunned, before speaking.

"Is he sure?"

"Yeah, she's got multicoloured hair, and wears glasses, but it's her. It's our baby sister... oh god, she's alive..." Jimmy ran a hand through his hair, almost unable to believe it. 

It was then both twins stood, looking at each other.

"Let's bring her home." said Johnny.

 

Arriving, both walked through the door, heading for the bar.

"Ah, hello. I wondered how long before you two would be here." said Jules, smirking.

"Where is she?" asked Jimmy.

"Jenny? Left about 5 mins ago, her and the coppers got what they wanted, so they skedaddled. Probs didn't want to be here when you showed up." he replied.

" _You let her go?!_ " Johnny had to grab Jimmy as he started, shushing his twin softly.

"Next time she's here, we want to know immediately. And _don't_ let her go till we get here." said Johnny, steering Jimmy out.

"He let her go, he let our baby sister go..." Jimmy was fuming.

"We know where she is. We just need to get to her now," replied Johnny, "we'll get our Princess back."


	7. Starting to Crumble

“Emmerson! I’m pinching your suit jacket, it looks better with these trousers!”

“Which one is it?!”

“The grey one!”

Emmerson walked through the door, and grinned as he saw her rolling the sleeves up, so they sat just below her elbows.

“You look adorable,” he said, wrapping an arm round her shoulders and kissing the side of her head.

As they set off to work, Layla noted a white van outside, but paid it no heed. Stepping inside, Fitz grinned from the front desk.

“Morning, love birds,” he said as they walked upstairs.

Emmerson held the door open for her as she walked in, only for them then to note the builders, who had their backs to them.

“What’s occurring?” she asked Sanders, who was watching from his desk.

“Some young offenders blocked sink upstairs,” the man replied, “I’m off for coffee, you two want the usual?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she grinned, moving to her desk to place her jacket on the back of her chair.

It was then she noted the cookies on her desk. White Chocolate and Raspberry.

_“…but she brought the reeaaaalllly nice ones that have raspberry and white chocolate and Johnny’ll eat them all before I get one!” she pouted at her older brother._

“Who are these from?” she startled a little as an arm snaked round her waist, Emmerson pulling her close.

“Dunno, no note - do you want one?” she asked, opening the packets and holding one out.

He took it, kissed the side of her head, before wandering back off to his desk as she sat down, logging onto her computer.

She heard Chandler enter, asking Kent what was happening, who let him know it was a blocked sink. It was then the roof came down near her, and she jumped, nearly falling out her chair, had one of the workmen not caught her.

“Cheers,” she mumbled, sitting back down.

“Don’t mention it,” she froze as she heard the voice, before looking into his face.

Johnny grinned back, before looking at the soggy roof above her, “you might want to move desks, just for a bit,”

“Layla, do you want to move over to Kent’s desk for a bit? Yours is under the blocked sink,” Miles said, coming over and laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, grabbing her stuff and scooting her chair over to Emmerson, who pulled her into him as soon as she was in arms reach.

“Well, this is going to be cozy,” he grinned.

“That doesn’t mean we’re not keeping an eye on you two over there!” grinned Miles.

“I’m wounded that you would assume such things,” Layla groaned, Emmerson pulling hurt faces next to her.

“Finley Mansell,” she turned round as Sanders walked in, followed by a young man who was grinning as he shook Chandler’s hand.

“One crappachino for Kent, one black coffee with two sugars for Jones,” said Sander, putting the coffee down, before looking over at Layla’s desk.

“Aren’t you over – oh,” his eyes drifted up to the ceiling, “having to desk share? We’ll need to keep an eye on you both.”

“Funnily enough, Skip said a very similar thing,” she laughed.

“Come on, incident board.” Said McComack as he passed.

They gathered round, Chandler holding the last he had gotten.

“The name on the last is Lenny Cobb. Two months ago, Lenny was abducted from open prison, where he was serving 18 months for credit card fraud. He was a model prisoner, and well liked generally, which begs the question, why was he murdered so brutally…”

“Excuse me, sir, but there’s a man downstairs, who says he knows, all about the murder…” Fitz had appeared at the door.

Miles and Chandler went down, Fitz following.

“Fiver says its Buchan,” said Sanders.

Layla sighed, before taking a step towards to the board, looking it over.

“Spotted something?” asked McComack.

“Yeah… this murder, well, it mirrors the murder of Frank Mitchell. He was shot, then the bullets cut from his heart and brain, and dumped in the river. Frank was a part of the Kray gang, same as Lenny.” She replied.

“How did you know that?” asked Mansell.

“My dad was very interested in the Kray’s, before he died.” She lied.

As Miles and Chandler came back, they all looked to them.

“Buchan, again.” Sighed Miles.

“Shocker,” snorted Layla, moving back to Emmerson, who wrapped his arm back round her.

The rest of the day continued without much incident, save for Emmerson every so often randomly showering her with affection.

“What is with you?” she laughed as he pulled her into another hug, kissing her cheek.

“I miss you all the time when you’re all the way over there, but now you’re right here, so I can love you.” He pouted.

“Shut up and have a cookie,” she chuckled, pushing one over.

“I’m gonna separate you two in a moment!” called Miles.

As five o’ clock rolled round, the guys shut the office down. Layla walked out with Emmerson, glancing back to the window. As she put her helmet on, and got on the back of Emmerson’s bike, clinging to him as he drove off, she couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching her. Again

 

~Back in the Incident Room~

“So, she’s called Layla Jones, and she’s got a boyfriend,” mulled Johnny.

“Fucking pretty boys, with their grubby hands over _my_ baby sister, who does he think he is, he’s not even worthy enough to _look_ in her direction, never mind date her, I’ll castrate him if I get the chance…” Johnny turned as Jimmy ranted, throwing some more ceiling on the floor.

“Calm down. I don’t like seeing it either,” Johnny sighed, picking up the photo on Jenny’s desk, looking at the two smiling faces, “we’ll get her back. Soon.”

 

~The Next Day~

“Layla, can you come round to mine for a moment?”

“Sure, see you in 5.”

She put the phone down, and Emmerson looked at her.

“What did he want?”

“Wanted me to go to his. I’ll see you in a bit.” She said, kissing his cheek.

 

“What’s wrong?”

Miles looked up as she walked across the lawn.

“Sit down, take some fish food.” He said.

She plonked herself down next to him, taking some food and letting the Carp take it from her hand.

“There’s something more to this, that you’re not letting on.” Miles said gently.

“I-I have no idea what you mean.” She replied.

Miles leaned forward slightly, “everyone in the Grave Maurice knew you. You were shaking like a leaf after we got out. You visibly froze when you saw those cookies on your desk. You knew Lenny’s murder mirrored Frank’s. And the DI said the bartender mentioned brothers. You said your family was dead.”

Layla sighed, “dead to me. Remember that day, when you came into my school, looking for the TDI? Remember how when you mentioned crime, and gangs, everyone glanced to me? Remember how when you asked me for my name, I took a moment to remember it?”

“I do.”

“Everything, I have ever told you about me, is a lie. I gave you a fake life, a fake story, a fake name.”

Miles was still, before resting a hand on top of her own, “then tell me who you really are.”


	8. Getting Personal

_“Everything, I have ever told you about me, is a lie. I gave you a fake life, a fake story, a fake name.”_

_Miles was still, before resting a hand on top of her own, “then tell me who you really are.”_

Layla sighed, opening her mouth, before she shut it sharpish – Chandler was storming up the garden.

“Don’t shout, you’ll scare the fishes,” said Miles.

“I’ve got a good mind to push you in there…” started Joe.

“Sit down, and take some food.” Miles ignored the threat.

“I don’t want to feed fish, I want an explanation.”

“Sit down. Sir.”

Chandler looked to be on the verge of arguing, but he sighed, taking a seat on the other side of Layla.

“You alright?” he asked her.

“We were having a small heart to heart before you interrupted, but never mind. I’m sorry, but it had to be done.” Said Miles.

“It was shaping up to be a really interesting case, and you gave it away.” Joe said.

“Some cases can be too interesting,” Layla mumbled.

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Joe.

“Let’s go to the pub. Layla, you can get drinks,” said Miles suddenly, standing up.

“What? It’s 2 in the afternoon.”

“Well, they’ll all be there then.”

They headed down, Layla trailing behind.

“We can chat later. I figured you wouldn’t want the DI to know.” Miles said quietly.

She nodded as they entered, her leading to the bar.

“Back again? Trying to make up for two years radio silence?” grinned Jules.

“Yeah, let’s go with that.” She smiled.

“Beers on me again, what you after?”

“Two Bitters and a Blonde.”

He pulled the pints and she handed them out, glancing as Miles and Joe began to talk as she stared into her beer.

“Your brother did a very similar thing, not long after you left. He would come in here, staring into his pint, saying what a complete and utter arsehole he had been.” Said Jules gently.

“I could have told him that for free,” she snorted.

“They came looking for you, just after you left. Jimmy looked like a dying man who had been told the cure was in this beer. Haven’t you talked to them?”

“Not since I high-tailed it after that argument.”

“Don’t you miss them?”

“I do. I do, almost every day. I miss Jimmy's hugs, and Johnny's advice, Jimmy helping me cause mischief and Johnny teaching me what I needed to know. I miss being Jimmy's baby sister, and Johnny's Princess… but I could have never been more than their little sister if I had stayed. I had to get out, I needed to make something of myself, be more than what I would have been. I needed my freedom.”

“Layla, we’re off back to the station. We’ll meet you back there.” Joe interrupted.

She nodded, watching them leave. Jules sighed, before resting a hand on her shoulder, “I’m not to let you go until your brothers get here. Strict instructions from Johnny. But… you know me. I always did have a soft spot for yeh. So I’m telling you now, they’re on their way. You need to go.”

She nodded, finishing her pint and making to go, when she saw two figures approaching the door.

Her breath stopped in her throat, and all eyes flew to her.

“Quick, back here!”

Jules pulled her behind the bar, and she clambered into the space below, where the crisp boxes normally sat, as she heard the footsteps approach the bar.

“Where is she?” Jimmy was almost growling.

“Who?” Jules asked calmly.

“Jenny. Where, is, my, baby, sister?!”

“She’s not here, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

“You let her go again?! After our last discussion?!”

“In case it wasn’t clear,” Johnny entered into the conversation, “we gave you one job. That job was to hold Jenny until we got her. And you appear to have failed.”

“Do you think it was that easy? If she comes in with her supervisor and her DI, I can’t hold her in without her consent.”

“Mark our words, Jules. You’ll come to regret this,”

She nearly burst out at this, but Jules rested a hand on the top of her head, shushing her. The footsteps faded, and as the door shut, Jules began to laugh.

“They like to think they’re tough, and they don’t care about anyone, oh but watch _you_ come bursting back onto the scene, and they’re running around like two panicking mother hens,” he said, helping her up, “it’s a side to the Kray’s we don’t get to see a lot these days.”

She nodded, before looking to him, “you gonna be ok?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with yer brothers for years, I know what I’m looking for,” he grinned, giving her a hug, “promise you’ll pop in more than once every two years?”

“I will,” she smiled, before heading out.

 

She arrived back at the office soon, clutching two cups of coffee, one which she placed down by Kent.

“Hey, darling, you ok?” he hushed as she took her seat, wrapping an arm round her and hugging her close.

“I’m fine, just a rough morning,” she smiled softly, Emmerson kissing the side of her head.

“Ah, ok. I’m here now, I got you.” He smiled at her.

“Fine, I’ll take Jones!”

“Wait, what?” she asked as Joe came over.

“Bayoneting at a snooker table, grab your coat and lets go.” He said.

“O-of course Sir.” She said, standing up.

“If someone is copying the Kray’s, that would make them a pathetic wannabe, wouldn’t it? You don’t need to be scared, you need to give them a slap, tell them how to behave.” Said Kent, standing up at the same time.

“Oh hun, if only it were that simple.” She smiled, giving him a kiss.

“You gonna be ok? Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, holding on to her waist.

“No… no, I’ll be ok…”

“I’ll get my coat.”

 

As they walked in, she spotted Jules stuck, and her heart dropped.

“Oh lord, Jules!” she rushed over, looking at him, “did _they_ do this to you?”

The last part she whispered, and Jules gave a slight inclination of the head.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Chandler had made his way over.

“Yeah, I was playing, and I slipped.”

“You slipped?” repeated Chandler,

“Yeah… don’t I feel silly, eh?” Jules tried to grin.

“Who put the knife through your hand?” Joe asked.

“What knife?”

Layla groaned, running a hand down her face, before she spotted someone.

“Forgot this was your haunt, Dukes,” she walked over to the man in the corner, “what happened this time?”

“He got a knife through his hand,” Dukes replied coolly.

“Funnily enough, I can see that,” she snarled, “I want to know who put it there. Was it Shaun? Or maybe Liam?”

“Someone on behalf of your brothers, for letting you escape a second time. Two years, has it been? They’re after you.” He smirked.

“I’d keep your trap shut about me being here then, unless you want to end up the same way,” she snapped, before heading back over, Emmerson wrapping an arm round her waist as they left.

 

As they got back – Emmerson having been sent to go do some investigating – she re-took her place, looking over at the photo on his desk, before her eyes glanced back to the cookies.

“You gonna tell me then?” asked Miles, appearing by her.

“I-I can’t. Jules got hurt, because he let me leave that bar twice. I can’t, I don’t want that… it’s safer if people don’t know. They can’t get hurt then.” She sighed.

“But if you tell us, we can stop them. I don’t care, who you really are, you’re still our TDI, whatever your name, whatever you past,” Miles said, taking a seat next to her.

Her shoulders slumped, and she bit her lip, but before she could say anything, McComack ran in.

“It’s Kent, he’s been attacked – he’s in A&E.”

_“WHAT?!”_

Layla jumped from her seat, before Miles grabbed her, and she ran out after Joseph and Miles.

Arriving, she practically flew over to Emmerson, him cupping her face as she rested her forehead against him, kissing him reassuringly.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Some guys, they striped me. Said I need to keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself. I should be ok, I’ll be ok,” he reassured against her lips, “don’t fret about me, babygirl, I’ll be ok.”

“We need to get him checked out…” he was wheeled away and she was left there in the corridor, fist’s clenched.

“Now it’s really personal,” she growled.


	9. Revelations

“This is exactly the same as in 1966. Ronnie Kray was thirsting for blood. George Cornell was sitting right there, drinking a light ale, when Ronnie Kray came in and shot him in the head.” Joe said, crouching down by the body.

She looked down at the body. They had been called to a late night shooting in a pub, and Layla was hating every second of it.

“Our victim was a larger man, close enough.” Said Miles.

“Becks. Eugh, prefer a Timothy Taylor Landlord.” Grimanced Layla.

“How do you know what it is?” asked Miles.

“Girl’s gotta have a hobby.”

“Two warning shots, fired to clear everyone out, and this man gets a bullet in the head.” Said Joe.

“The only witness to the George Cornell murder in ’66 was the barmaid, and she went into witness protection, they can’t get her. So what did Billy Bunhill do 40 years ago to deserve this? And who waits that long to take revenge?” asked Miles as Sanders approached.

“Barmaid saw everything, but she wouldn’t talk.” He said.

“Oh this is a stroll through history, innit?” groaned Miles.

“No, she wouldn’t talk to me, but she said she’d talk to you,” he pointed at Layla at this point.

“There’s a surprise,” she sighed, following him.

As she walked over, sitting down, Belinda smiled.

“I only wish we could have met again in different circumstances, Jenny.” She whispered.

“I know. You need to tell us what happened, Bel,” Layla said reassuringly, grasping her hand as Miles and Joe walked over.

“I saw Jimmy, Jimmy Kray. He shot him.” She replied.

“Jimmy… oh I so hoped you wouldn’t say him.” Layla groaned.

Standing up, she looked straight at Miles.

“Well, he only lives round the corner,” she said offhandedly, “we best go get him.”

 

“Compromised, situation compromised.”

“No fear what-so-ever, that woman,” Layla grumbled as she followed Joe and Miles to the open door.

“Don’t just stand there, gawping. Jimmy’s expecting ya.”

She followed Angie into the room, and took a second, looking round at the familiar hallway, even her old trainers by the coat rack.

She heard footsteps, but didn’t look up.

“You’re the builder who fixed the ceiling in the incident room.” Said Joe.

“How’s your boy doing? Still got a sore arse, has he?”

“YOU -!”

Chandler had to grab Layla as she sprung forward, ready to pummel the daylights out of Jimmy, restraining her.

“I’ll stripe you if I ever get my hands on you!” she snarled, tears building.

“Layla!” said Miles.

“Arrest him and get him out of here!” said Chandler.

“Hang on, gotta say my goodbyes first.” Smirked Jimmy.

“Always were a cocky bastard.”

‘I’ll be back in time for dinner, mum,” he said, kissing Angie on the cheek, before he was escorted out, giving Layla a look.

Chandler loosed his grip.

“Layla, what the ever living…?”

“I’ll explain later,” she mumbled, wrenching her arms from Joe as they went into the living room, Angie coming back with tea.

“He was here all night, so whatever you think he did, he didn’t.” she said, pouring the tea.

“Jimmy Kray? I mean, come on, everyone knows there aren’t any Kray’s anymore, they’re all dead.” Said Joe

“Oh he’s a Kray alright,” smiled Angie.

“Yeah, and every time I do karaoke, I call myself Elvis, but that doesn’t make me the King.” Said Miles.

“I can prove it,” Angie said, putting the tea down and going to get the scrapbook, “I used to write to Ronnie Kray when he was in prison. He invited me to visit him, so I did for a couple of years. Then one day,” she said, sitting down on the pouffe, “he was on about how he wanted an heir. A son, to carry on the legend. I offered to help.”

“Ronnie Kray was a misogynistic homosexual, who thought all woman were dirty,” said Miles, “how could you get pregnant?”

“Because he kept a deposit in a special sort of bank. And I made a withdrawl.” She said, pulling Jimmy’s birth certificate out.

Layla leant back against the sofa, her eyes glancing across the pages, the photo’s in the room.

“Themselves?” asked Joe, “how many Kray’s did you have?”

“Just my twins. Two, perfect boys.”

As she pulled out Johnny’s birth certificate, Layla saw her own float to the floor, which Miles picked up.

“Jenny Richardson? Father signature, Eddie Richardson?” he read out.

“Oh yes. I was also talking to Eddie Richardson, who was always about having a baby girl. So, I also had my beautiful Jenny. She was twelve years younger than the twins, and they loved her so much. She was Jimmy’s baby sister, and Johnny’s Princess, they were so protective over her.”

“Were?” repeated Joe, “where is she right now?”

“I don’t know. She ran away two years ago – she joined you lot, gave you a fake name and a fake story, and Jimmy didn’t like it one bit, you can see why. So, she ran away, after a huge argument. Jimmy still hasn’t forgiven himself for it, and Johnny still hopes one day, his Princess will come home.”

“A fake story, a fake name...” Miles was looking straight at her, “Layla Jones.”

Layla sighed, removing her glasses, and looking straight at Angie, “yes. Hi, mama.”

“Jenny!”

Angie moved so quick, Layla thought she was going to fall over, but she was hugging her, holding her so tight.

“Oh, Jenny, my baby girl, you’re alive, you’re safe, two years… two whole years, you’ve been gone, but you’re home now… oh let me go call Johnny, he’ll be overjoyed…”

She got up, moving to the kitchen to use the phone, and Layla looked at Miles.

“Is this what you were trying to tell me?” he asked.

“Yeah… my real name is Jenny Richardson. Jimmy and Johnny Kray are my brothers.” She sighed.

Angie at this point came back in, and spoke, “Johnny’s on his way, and he sounds so overjoyed and relieved that you’re home.”

She nodded, unable to look at Joe.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked gently.

“With the last name of Richardson, and a family of Kray’s? Any chance of joining the force would have been scuppered. I wanted a new life, I wanted to get rid of the shadow of my brother’s that followed me under the name of Jenny.” She said.

It was then the door opened, and she heard Johnny yell, “Jenny?!”

“Johnny?” she replied, and in a flash, she was scooped from the chair, into her brothers arms, and he was holding her like he would never let go, rocking her as she hid her face into his shoulder, stroking her hair, clutching her tightly.

“Oh Jenny, oh god, my Princess, you’re safe, you’re home, two years I’ve been searching for you, but you’re back now… you’re ok… we’ve all missed you so much….” Johnny soothed, rocking her gently from side to side.

She sniffled, trying to hold back the tears, “I’m still mad with you both.”

“I know. I know, Princess.”

 

“You believe her?” asked Joe as they left, Layla trailing along behind them.

“Well, yeah. The legend did always say there was a sperm bank,” Miles looked to her, before sighing, “Layla, why don’t you head on home, back to Kent? We’ll chat tomorrow.”

 

“So, you’re related to Jimmy and Johnny Kray? The guys who striped me?”

“Sorry…” she mumbled.

She was sitting by Emmerson as he sat on the sofa back at the flat, looking at her hands.

“Jenny Richardson… I can’t imagine you as anything really than Layla Jones. Well, maybe Layla Kent.” Emmerson mulled.

“You’re, you’re not mad at me?” she asked tentatively.

“What? No, why would I? I love you, not for your name or anything like that, but for you, my baby, my girl, my darling. I couldn’t care less who you’re related to, I still love you with all I have,” he reached out and grasped her hand, smiling as he stroked the skin with his thumb.

“And I love you as well,” she smiled, leaning in to kiss him.

As he pulled her down so they were lying on the sofa, he held her close, humming softly.

“ _Cause you know just what to say… and you know just what to do… and I want to tell you so much… I love you…_ ” he sung softly.


	10. Chase

Kent, you ok?”

Layla grinned as she helped Kent down the stairs, who was using crutches.

“I’m better, now I’ve been home for a bit.” He smiled.

She helped him into his seat, before Chandler approached her.

“Layla? Can I have a word?” he asked, motioning her to his office.

“O-Of course.”

She followed him in, and shut the door behind her.

“Layla, do you still want me to call you that?”

“That is my preferred name, sir. At least in respected society.” She replied.

“Of course. I needed to talk to you, because… as of this moment, being their brothers, it means we cannot have you involved in this conduction. I know,” he said, as she opened her mouth, “I know you would never think to tamper with the evidence, or obstruct our work, but for, lawful purposes…”

“I get it,” she sighed.

“You can leave your stuff here – we’ll see you when the case is over,” Joe said, getting up to shake her hand.

She nodded, before turning on her heel and walking out.

“Layla?”

“I gotta go, Emmerson,” she sighed, looking at him as he stood, “as their sister…”

He nodded, kissing her on the forehead, “I’ll see you at home, ‘kay?”

“Ok.”

She grabbed her coat, and walked up the stairs, out the doors, down the stairs and marched out the building, heading down the streets and cutting through the park.

“Hello, Jenny.”

She stopped as she heard that voice, and sighed,

“It’s Layla, Johnny.” She replied, looking round at him.

“A new name would never stop us. You could never escape your past, no matter how hard you tried,” he chuckled.

“I nearly did. I had a new home, a new job, a boyfriend, a life, for two whole years. Until you two decided to show up, and it all came crashing down,” she stated.

“Ah, yes, the pretty boy,” she spun to see Jimmy, “I was sure we told you, no dating till you were 21 at least.”

“That was when I was 12, and still Jenny Richardson. I am TDI Layla Jones, and no longer under your shadow.”

“You never left it,” Johnny’s smiled.

“Anyway, what do you want?” she asked.

“You. We’ve come to pick you up.” Replied Jimmy.

“The Kray’s, doing the dirty work? I thought you have goons to pick up people, not do it yourself.” She replied, one eyebrow rose.

“This is a special instance. You are our baby sister,” he said.

“Well, nice to know something’s never change. You know what else hasn’t changed?” she said, a smirk forming.

“Like what?” asked Jonny, taking a step towards here.

“I still like to play chase!”

At this, she darted off, running down the park road. She could hear their footsteps being her, getting into a car, as she ran, though the park, and onto the streets, dodging people as she did. She could still hear the car as she darted down a side alley, climbing the wall, ripping her trousers and dropping down on the other side, rolling as she landed, slicing her cheek and cutting her forehead, scraping her palms as she scrambled up to continue running. Pulling her phone out, she punched a number in, holding it to her ear.

“ _DC Kent, how can I -?”_

“Emmerson! They’re after me!”

_“Layla?! Who’s after you, where are you?!”_

“My brothers! I’m just by the Chinese now, the block is like 10 mins away!”

“ _Ok, ok, get to the flat, lock the door, and do not open it under any circumstances until I get home! I’m leaving now.”_

“OK, Ok, right, I’m – SHIT!”

The car pulled out right in front of her, causing her to skid to a halt, just as the door opened and she was yanked in, a set of arms clutching her tightly as the car set off again.

“We got you now, baby sister,” said Jimmy, smugly, as she fought and kicked, Emmerson’s voice still yelling her name down the phone.

“EMMERSON!” she screeched as Johnny took the phone off her, grinning as he spoke into it,

“She’s coming back home now, copper. You’ll never lay a finger on our sister again.”

“EMMERSON!”

The phone went dead, and she growled, “don’t think I’m giving up so easily.”

“We don’t think, we know,” Jimmy smirked, sitting her between the two and putting her seatbelt on.

She sat back in her seat, eyes darting to the door handles and the way they were traveling, trying to work out an opportune moment.

It was when the car stopped at a cross roads, she got it.

She cut the seatbelt with her pocketknife, and dived across Johnny’s lap, pulling the handle and pushing the door with her shoulder, rolling out, before scrambling up, running again, heading back to the flats, darting down a side alley and scrambling up the fire exit ladder, hearing the car brake under as she climbed onto the roof tops. It was only then, she realised her phone was still in the car.

She looked back down, noting the car had gone. Climbing back down, she pulled her hood up, before nipping into the nearest phone booth, shoving some change in and punching in the number.

“C’mon, pick up…”

“ _D-DC Kent…”_

“Yeah, yeah, we know you’re a DC, quit showing off.” She smiled.

“ _LAYLA!_ _Oh my god, you’re ok.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I escaped, somehow. They’re not good at this grab and go shit, I guess that’s why they pay people to do it.”

“ _Where are you?”_

“At a payphone booth, just two blocks from the flats. My phone got lost back in their car. Wasn’t the first thing I thought to grab when I busted out.”

_“No, no, oh god, thank heavens. I was so worried.”_

“Yeah… I’m gonna get back, don’t like being out in the open too long.”

_“No, get home, lock the doors, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Love you.”_

“Love you too.”

She hung the phone up, before pulling her hood further over her face, and walking down the road, carful to hide in the crowds. As she stopped at a pelican crossing, it was then she noted the car stopped outside the front door.

“Shit,” there was no other way in – the windows were shut, and the fire door was opened only from the inside. So she was going to have to go in the front way, or wait for Emmerson to get back.

“Well, here we go,” she said, forcing her legs to move forward, head down, keys in her hand.

As she went to unlock the door, she heard the door open, and a set of arms wrapped round her waist, picking her up and making her drop her keys.

“LET ME GO!”

Jimmy merely ignored her, carrying her thrashing body back to the car, pulling the door open and sitting down, holding her tightly as he did the seatbelt up over himself and her.

“I’ve texted your copper.” Said Johnny idly.

“Bastards, the both of you!”

“We know. But you’re not getting away so easily this time,” hummed Jimmy, “so you might as well relax. You used to love sitting on my knee in the car, remember?”

“I was 5!” she shot back, trying to pull away, but Jimmy kept a tight hold on her, until she had to give up, leaning against Jimmy, who was smoothing her hair down.

All too soon, they were pulling up outside number 7, and as the twins got out, Jimmy pulled Layla with him, hand grasping her shoulder as he walked her back towards the door.

Opening it, he announced their arrival, and Angie appeared, clutching a plate.

“Oh, Jenny!” she shrieked, putting the plate down to run towards them, cupping her face.

“Gerroff Ma,” Layla muttered.

“What on earth happened! Could you both not have been more gentle in retrieving her?” Angie said to the twins, crossly.

“We tried to do it civilly, but Jenny still likes to play chase.” Said Jimmy, ruffling her hair.

“Oh dear… do I need to make Jenny’s room up again, or will she just be camping in one of yours two rooms?”

“She can stay in mine,” said Johnny.

Layla cursed inwardly.

 

Emmerson clutched at the phone as he read the text, crutches abandoned on the floor and jacket half on.

“Kent?” asked Chandler.

“T-T-They got her… they took my girl.” He stammered.

The phone dropped as he sat down suddenly, the world spinning.

“Oh my god,” muttered Miles, before turning on Joe, “you let her walk home alone?! During all of this!? You should have sent someone with her, heck, even driven her home yourself!”

“I didn’t know this was going to happen!” retorted Joe.

“Didn’t know it was going to happen, she was their sister, she was target number one! And we can go search the house but you and I both know damn well that they’ll hide her somewhere we won’t find her!”

Joe sighed, before returning to his office. Miles came over and looked straight at Kent, grasping his shoulder.

“We will get her back. I promise you, with every breath I have, we will get her back.” He said.

Emmerson nodded, as Joe came back out, holding something.

He posted something on the board, and began to write under the picture, “ _TDI Layla Jones/Jenny Richardson, 19 years old, brown eyes, multi-coloured hair, natural blonde, 5ft 1, sometimes wears glasses. Kidnapped by Jimmy and Johnny Kray from outside her flats.”_

“We’ll get her back,” Joe muttered, “as long as I am DI, we will get her back.”

It was when Kent went home, and found her keys on the concrete, that he started to cry.

 


End file.
